


Nosy Takes Requests

by noseforahtwo



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, NSFW, Porn with Feelings, Prompt Fill, Quickies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-05-24 17:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6161656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noseforahtwo/pseuds/noseforahtwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt fills from tumblr<br/>Almost all are nsfw. Some are very nsfw.<br/>Specific content warnings in notes of relevant chapters.<br/>Ten and counting so far. Will update a few times a week for March & April.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prompt: "It's not what it looks like"

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr meme for fic prompts  
> this one came from @heyitsharding, wardenaeducan here on Ao3  
> Evelyn is nearly ready to leave for Halamshiral. Blackwall won't be coming along.

“It’s not what it looks like.” He froze, halfway through stripping the cover off of one of her pillows. 

Evelyn rounded the edge of the stairs and tossed the handful of rolled missives in her hand onto the sofa. He was red faced, sitting on her big bed, pillow in hand. 

“All right.” she felt herself frowning at him. “If you’ve suddenly got an urge to do laundry, I won’t complain.”

Blackwall’s hands clenched on the wad of linen and his eyes darted to her balcony and back. 

“ _Are_ you feeling like doing the washing?” 

He didn’t answer, only sighed and threw the pillow back against the headboard. 

She watched him lever himself up, limping and awkward on his bad leg. 

“You’re supposed to be resting that,” Evelyn nodded at his knee. He didn’t need mothering, but the idea that he’d hobbled all the way up to her room again made her want to fuss.

“I _am_ resting it.” He scowled and limped to the chair in front of the fire. 

There was no good way to say, _‘Stop making it worse so I can cease worrying about you. You great stubborn prat.’_ So instead she patted his cheek on the way to her desk. Eating an apple with one hand and signing her name with another, she worked her way down until she could see the polished top of the desk. 

“Now then,” Evelyn left her apple core on the blotter and licked her sticky fingers as she threw another log into the hearth then settled onto Blackwall’s lap. “What has you changing the sheets?” she threaded her fingers through the edge of his beard, scratching at his jaw.

He scowled and grabbed hold of her hand to stop her.

“If you don’t want to be petted,” she pulled her hand loose, pushed it into the hair at the back of his neck. “Don’t have fur.” His mouth was hard against hers, tense in a way he wasn’t normally. She pulled back to look him in the eye, “What were you up to?”

“You’ll be off for Halamshiral tomorrow.” 

Looking at the dressmaker’s dummy in the corner, decked out in the beautiful, extravagant waste of money and time which she had insisted on over Josie’s _uniform_ , she nodded, brushing her lips against his. “Mmhmm.”

“I should be going with you.”

Evelyn pressed a kiss into his brow then settled herself more comfortably across his thighs. “Much as I’d like to see the world’s biggest toy soldier…You’re no use to me crippled, Warden. Stay here, get well. I’m taking enough men. Cullen’s hand-picked them.”

His big broad hands settled on the small of her back. “Three days there, a week, three days back again.”

“Mmhmm,” she began working on the laces down his chest.

“I’ve gotten used to you.”

He couldn’t have said it in a less tender way. He said it like she was a splinter in his palm. 

“So you’re…” she twisted her fingers in his hair, thinking. “Were you filching my pillows to cuddle while I’m gone?”

“No,” he muttered into the hollow of her throat. 

“You were!” Evelyn grabbed him by the ears, pushed his head back against the plush chair and kissed him, hard, her teeth and tongue insistent. Only when he had relaxed against her, his fingers worming their way under her jumper, did she let his mouth go. “You dear, sweet thing.”

He fidgeted under her smile, his hair in his eyes. 

“Don’t fret,” she kissed his cheeks above the line of his beard, one after the other. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Tell them what you like,” he pulled her in close, grinding up against her. “I only needed a pillowcase to fill with your dirty knickers. Two weeks is a long time.”

Her delighted laugh made him smirk up at her. 

“Filthy old bugger,” she said into the patch of bare skin just below his ear. “Think you can manage to fuck me with a bum leg?”


	2. Prompt: "Take it off."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-yet-Captain Thom Rainier knows petfectly well: It ain't easy being sleazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr fic meme prompt from @mauvaisereputation  
> #35, Thom Rainier/Random Orlesian lady  
> light (poorly executed) restraint play ahead

“Take it off.” It was late, and he was too tired for a piss-poor version of this game. The bed settled a little where she sat down. A hand ran up his calf, tickling the hair. “You heard me.” The hand stopped. In the quiet version of Orders Voice, “Take. It. Off.”

He wasn’t going to stoop to craning his head around, trying to get the scarf off his eyes. Instead he pulled on the cord around his right wrist until the headboard creaked. “Come up here, Dear Heart,” he put more Markham in his accent.

“Come on and have your evil way with me.”

A tittering little laugh and her fingers were dancing up his thigh. Better, but not nearly good enough. For fuck’s sake, at this rate he’d make it back to the boarding house with no time to do anything but get a clean shirt on and meet his sergeants. She was at least stroking him now, but her palm was dry and the rings she wore pinched his skin. He jerked and she took it for encouragement, stupid twat.

“Don’t you want to do anything else while I’m at your mercy?”

“What else should I do?” She was trying to sound coy and seductive, but she came off dull. His own damn fault for coming back for seconds. There hadn’t been time for talking last week, not with a ballroom full of his superiors, her  husband among them. She’d wanted it quick and dirty in the garden, and she’d got it. Should have left well enough alone. He pulled on his 'restraints' impatiently.

“Come up here where I can get to you.”

The light changed over his eyes, she crawled up his body, her hair dragging along his ribs until her tits were in his face. He mouthed at her nipples, while she _oohhed_ and _ahhhed_ , like he needed the bloody pat on the back. She’d put rouge on her nipples. And what was the point of that if he couldn’t see? All it did was get the odd taste in his mouth.

She moaned, too loud for just getting her tits sucked. He didn’t need praise, he needed to _see_ her tits, her arse, her cunt. Fucking her against some ugly statue meant he hadn’t seen much more of her than anyone could walking down the street. They all wore six layers of skirts, and there’d been so much lace in his way he’d had to hold it aside just to get his cock in the right place. Now she was naked as the day she was born and all he saw was the back of a silk scarf.

She sat up, her wet cunt on his belly, and that was interesting at least, but she was giggling again and- Maker’s Balls she was running a fucking feather over his nipples.

Trying to keep the teasing baritone that made them melt, and not the annoyance that made him want to bark at her, he said, “Fine as this is, why don’t you let me up? I’m dying to have my hands on you.”

“No, no, no,” she simpered, like he was some fop who’d complimented her shoes. “You mustn’t be in such a hurry.”

Grinding his teeth until his jaw ached, he twitched as she tickled his belly. “In that case, you could get me another drink.” Belatedly, he added, “If you’ve a mind to, as I’m so helpless.”

The third time she pulled the goblet away from his mouth mid-swallow, he got his heels in the mattress and bucked her off his hips.

She lit into a chiding rant about what a naughty boy he was and yanked his blindfold off. Squinting, he could see her arse was disappointingly flat. The thighs weren’t bad, though. “Come here, then.”

She shook her head and picked up that ruddy feather. A peacock feather, of all things. Sod it. He pulled until the gilded finial she’d tied him to snapped off.

She squeaked and started in again. “What will I say to him when he sees this?!”

He’d been about to untie his left hand, but just for that he sat up and and did the same on the other side. Wadding up the mess of curtain cords and broken birch, he got to his feet and threw it all onto the bed beside her.

“A blight on him, and your cheap bed, and your feathers,” he snarled, wiping a hand down his wine-sticky chin. “I’ve got better things to do.”

She got up on her knees, eyes flashing, her lips parted for her excited breaths.

Ah. Right. He poured himself a goblet full and while he drank it, propped a knee on the bed beside her and wrapped her long black hair around his fist. Pulling her head back until she arched had her shivering, and she let out a real moan. It was a good start. He gave her a little shake and watched her eyes latch onto his cock hungrily.

“This what you’re after, then? Want me angry?”

Her hand, heavy with jewels went between her legs. He enjoyed the show and finished his wine. A red flush had spread down her throat. He waited until he could smell her, not the perfume or the powder, but _her_.

“Didn’t have to waste time trying to get on my wick.” His hand in her hair forced her onto her back. Her legs wrapped around him. She whimpered when he reached down to line himself up and thrust home all at once. His hips slamming into her pushed her up and back, but he kept his grip on her hair, feeling it pull. “I can fuck you like I hate you, just for the asking.”


	3. Prompt: A kiss below the waist and a moan.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thom Rainier gets in nearly over his head.  
> Consensual NonCon Play. Voyeurism. Technically a 3way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompted by the darling @bugsieplusone  
> #4, A kiss below the waste and a moan. Thom the Prick, purty please?

_No wonder I couldn’t manage it, if this is what it takes to get her going._

His hand at the base of his cock went from showing off to circling protectively as the servant - slave, probably - came stumbling toward the bed, her little fingers lunging straight for him.

She was a mass of freckles, even on the tips of her pointy ears that stuck out from a pile of red curly hair. Her frightened babbling got higher pitched while off in the corner her mistress was rubbing herself faster the louder the girl pleaded.

Her Orlesian had that thick slurring accent the elves never got rid of. But he didn’t need every word to know she was being forced. 

Fuck’s sake, if he’d known this was what was required to get the cushy posting, he’d have gotten his hands on some of that root the dwarves smoke. Andraste knew he needed to make lieutenant before the next campaign, but his cock didn’t seem like he could rely on it just now. 

The girl had to hoist herself up just to climb onto the bed in front of him. He inched back on his knees as she fumbled with her blouse. He let her get a grip on his flagging erection and swallowed a sick feeling down. Over the girl’s head his Captain’s daughter was watching with half shut eyes, tits swaying with her panting breath. Nasty bitch, this one.

“Just play along, big boy.”

It took a moment for the elf’s whispered words to make sense to him. She was wiggling out of her smalls, her arse to her Mistress and still whimpering with what sounded like fear and shaking like a halla, so when she rolled her eyes at the sighing moan from the corner it was all he could do not to laugh in relief.

She stroked him with fumbling carelessness, throwing frightened glances over her shoulder but nudging him to turn so the bitch in the corner had a better view. He was trying, but between the amateur tugging and her fucking enormous eyes blinking up at him, wet with tears while she went on and on about how he’d split her in half…

Out of their audience’s sight, blocked by her hip, a spit-slick finger teased under his balls and further back. He jumped. The jolt from his puckered hole to his cock was like lightning. She smiled and did it again, rubbing in quick little circles before her thin finger slipped inside him an inch.

At his groan, she bent over and pressed her tongue to the head of his cock, running him back and forth over her thin lips. Her open-mouthed kiss on the sensitive notch underneath came along with a wink and that finger slipping in all the way.

 _Maker’s Balls_ , why had he never let a girl do that before, when it felt so fucking good?

“Start talking mean - but you hit me and I’ll bite,” she whispered against his (now perfectly ready to play along) cock. “Don’t get any in my hair, all right?”


	4. Prompt: Capernoited - tipsy or drunk.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beardy & Fuzzhead, havin' a pint down the Rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompted by @lonewarden for some drunk Blackwall.

“Whatchu moping about, then?” Sera nudged his elbow with her own. “Right pair of moaners, we are. What’s up your arse?” She was used to Beardy frowning into his first few drinks, but he cheered up once somebody poured enough beer in him.

Blackwall humphed and shook his head.

“Come on,” Sera rolled her eyes, looking around the half-empty tavern. “The beer’s shit, Cabot’s let the food go green, there’s only the one girl working tonight and yeeesh, I’d rather snog…” She couldn’t think of anything bad enough. “I’d rather fuck _you_! So spit it out.”

“Nothing.”

“Piss, nothing. If you’re gonna sulk over her every bleedin’ night, you might as well do something about it.”

He tried to look sneaky but he just came off nervous. “Sulk over who?”

“Arse Biscuit, don’t play dumb. Her Highness.”

Sera downed the last of her own beer and waved for more as this time Blackwall tried to look innocent or offended. But he was better at offended. Nobody his age looked like they weren’t up to something. “Besides, it’s _whom_.” She frowned in thought. “I think, maybe. _Piss_! I’m sick of Dorian always telling me I’ve done that one wrong. Right, though, Her Majestic Ladybits Evelyn oohlala-aren’t-I-fancy Trevelyan.”

Wincing, Blackwall leaned over the table toward her. “Keep your voice down.”

“Piss on my voice. You keep mooning over her, everybody’s gonna know anyway. Been staring holes in her since we got up onto this bleedin’ mountain.”

“I am not staring. It's my responsibility to see she returns to Skyhold in one piece.”

“Especially the back piece, yeah?” Sera leered.

Making to stand, Blackwall tossed a few coins on the table. “We’re done talking about this.”

“Like fuck!” Sera grabbed for his sleeve but only knocked the last of his ale onto the floor. As he bent to snatch up the spinning tankard she said to the back of his shaggy head, “I’m not saying you’ve got bad taste in tarts. Great tits, nice arse-”

“Sera!” He sat down again and gave her that Grumpy Dad look that never worked.

She talked over him, thinking about their relative size. Her own were pretty pitiful in comparison, but big tits were grand. The best. “They’re big, but they’re probably not saggy and squishy. You know, tits with meat in them so you can get a really good squeeze.” He did know, too. Inky’s looked like Rilke’s. They’d both had Rilke’s in their grip (when she wasn't busy slinging pints) and those were some top jubblies.

He shook his head and waited until the new girl had brought a round and sopped up the spill with a rag. “I hadn’t-all right, yes I’ve noticed.” His ears went red. “I’ve noticed she is a woman, and she has tits. There. Is that what you wanted to hear, Fuzzhead?”

“Not half of it! I wanna hear what makes her so great you’ve gone all schmoopy at her.”

“That’s not,” he wiped foam from his mustache. “Schmoopy isn’t a word.”

“Which would you prefer, yeah? Fancy? Infatumated? Uh,” Sera scrunched her nose up and groped for the right one. “Gagging for it? Sorry, ran out of nice ones.” Gulping the really not very good beer, she belched. “You’re schmoopy for Inky, sodding well admit it.”

“Lady Trevelyan is an incredible woman and there’s nothing wrong with saying so.” He pointed a finger in her face like he’d won the argument.

“You don’t fancy her cuz she’s an incredible woman you like the tits and the arse and the pointy tongue.”

He looked pole axed. “Pointy?”

“Never noticed? She’s got a pointy tongue. Proper cute. That’s the sort of thing you can put to good use.” Sera gave him her nastiest grin. “Places.” Blackwall’s eyes got foggy and he looked off over her shoulder. “Right, so you like the arse and the tits and the tongue. What else?”

He gave one of those big sad sighs he was so good at, ruffling her fringe with his beer breath. “She’s a decent person.”

“Well, if that’s all it takes to get your sword up, make a move on Cullen or Mother Gazelle.”

“This is why I didn’t want to talk about this." There was a big scab on the back of his sword hand, he started picking at it. "I’m not making-I can’t say the right things.”

“It’s not me you’re trying to wiggle up to, Beardy. You ain’t gotta say it pretty for me.”

If anybody needed a good shag it was him. Sera wanted her old Beardy back, and she wasn’t likely to get him until he’d gotten into Inky’s knickers.

“I couldn’t say it any better to…her, either. Not that I - ” He sighed. “She deserves better than an old soldier.”

“Old?!” Her first thought was to be offended. Nobody said shit like that about her mates. But wait. “Well, yeah, too true. You are old but you’re still hard as a coffin nail, ain’t you? And she likes your knightly stuff. Always jumping in front of her and big nasty things.”

“That’s not-” He tipped up his pint. “I’m a fighter. I know my duty. It’s her, jumping in front of things for everyone else that night.” He scowled down at the table. “Toe to toe with an archdemon and the rest of us sneaking out the back like cowards.”

“Hey,” Sera patted his arm, maybe a little too hard but she was shite at nice stuff. “She told us to, and we had to get the little people out. There were real little people - kids and shit, Beardy. They weren’t gonna make it up this mountain without us watching their backs.”

“She climbed it after us, didn't she? We left her. Left her to die.”

There wasn’t much to say to that, so Sera drank and watched him picking at that spot on his hand until she couldn’t take the quiet any more. “Yeah. I felt like shit about that, too.” Brightening up, she poked his bulgy arm. “But she made it. Inky’s toughened up. That’s why you’re schmoopy for her, since she’s the self-sacrificing sort like you, yeah?”

Beardy shook his head and hunched over his beer. “I have things to atone for.”

He _always_ said that, but never what. Probably murder. It was always murder with Wardens, that’s what everybody said. Well, piss on them, whoever it was. Bet they deserved it. “Anyway, I thought you liked redheads.”

That got a nasty laugh out of him. “You know I do. Everybody likes redheads.”

“Her hair’s gotten light. All the running around in the blazing sun, stupid sandy places. And now she’s fed back up - looked like a stray cat that first week or two - but she’s filling those breeches up these days.” Sera kicked at his shin under the table. “C’mon, Beardy. Don’t act like you haven’t been thinkin’ about _that_.”

Draining his pint, he chuckled, like he didn’t want to, but couldn’t help it.

That was the Beardy she liked to have around. Beaming at him, she waved at the maybe not-so-rough-looking new girl for more. “Too bad you’re always riding point when we’re out. I get the best view: Boobsboobsboobs, buttbuttbutt. All jigglywiggly.” Thinking hard for what else he might have liked, Sera hit upon something else. “Oh! And she’s got that pouty lip.”

“It's, uh," he scowled at the dirty table and burped under his breath. "Plump. Not pouty.”

“Oh, she pouts. She pouts when you aren’t looking.”

“What does that mean?”

“She pouts _because_ you aren’t looking.”

“Don’t take the piss.”

“I heard how you kept an arrow outta her brain the first time she saw you." Sera polished off the last of her drink before trading empty for full with New Girl. "Cheers. Beardy, birds eat that stuff up. You’re a _hero_. She’s been making cow eyes at you, too. Is it her pretty blue eyes?”

“They’re lovely.”

“You think her everything is lovely.”

“Yes,” he sighed and stared off over her head, scratching at his beard.

“Ugh, Moaner. You’re too old to be carrying on like this.”


	5. Prompt: Sweet Pea -

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn & Blackwall in Skyhold  
> Is there a tag for Wistful Oral Sex?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompted by the fabulous @uchidachi

There’s only so much she can manage in one go. Three times - four if she’s been drinking but that fourth one, _Maker_ he has to work for it.

He doesn’t think too hard about why he’s so determined to watch her come again tonight. 

“Mmmm, that’s lovely,” she sighs, her hands squeezing her tits, fingers dragging over her nipples. “But I’m done for,” she says with a shiver and a jaw-cracking yawn. “You’re wasting your time.”

He doesn’t answer, just gets comfortable sprawled across her enormous bed, his head pillowed on her thigh, tongue running up and down between the lips swollen and flushed dark red. She is damned near asleep against her pile of pillows by the time he’s holding her open enough to suck at her as gently as he can. 

Little whimpers now and her hips are stirring against the mattress. All this kissing has gotten him hard but it’s easy to ignore. The thin skin between her breasts has gone pink, her mouth is open for her sighs and hitching breaths. Keeping the wiry hair below his bottom lip away from her, he runs his tongue in circles, nothing but the slick wet of his tongue until she’s arching into him and pleading in whispers.

It’s tempting to push her over hard, but he waits. Her eyes are still shut. What little light the fire throws out has painted her sunset colors against the dark of her quilts. Her hair is a mess, the braids half undone by his hands and her arching back into the bed earlier. While she isn't watching he can stare, memorizing the shape of her mouth around the word _please_. 

Soon enough it will be the last time he sees her fall apart under his tongue. He’ll stay this way as long as she can stand it.


	6. Prompt: #6 Teeth or no teeth.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Emprise. Blackwall and Evelyn in camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was an anonymous tumblr prompt  
> hope you liked it, Mystery Caller  
> (My first post on tumblr to get more than 50 notes. I am still such a happy camper about that.)

“I can’t,” she whispered, her voice breaking on a dry sob. His mouth was making her squirm, her belly clenched, her cunt was absolutely aching to be filled, and she was certain he would kill her with his teasing. “Please, I don’t care who hears us.” She pulled at the blankets with the hand not stroking him as he nuzzled her neck, her ear, his warm breath welcome after the cold drafts that had sneaked in as they moved.  
  
“No, no,” Blackwall whispered into the shell of her ear, his mustache tickling her. “I can’t have that.” He ducked under the blanket to suck her nipples, one after the other as she writhed, his hand on her never slowing, just teasing circles. He bit gently, then a little harder, scraping all around with his scratchy chin.  
  
“Can’t have what?” she muttered, closing her eyes, sinking her hand into his hair as his humid breaths painted damp lines between her breasts when he swapped sides.  
  
He came back to her ear, his voice thin as a thread, gravelly and intimate enough to make her shiver.

“They can’t hear you, I want-” he broke off, took her mouth in a slow, hard, devastating kiss. He bit her lip until she clawed at his ribs, trying to keep from groaning. “I want to hear you, I want to taste you.” He licked her throat before his teeth scraped her, and it made something animal and wordless twist inside her. “You’re too fine for them,” he whispered, his words steam on her skin, “Too beautiful, too good for soldiers.”  
  
Evelyn arched against him, remembering at last his cock in her hand. She let his soft fragile skin slide through her grip. “ _You_ ’ _re_ a soldier.” She gasped as he pushed a finger inside her, but it wasn’t enough, not nearly. “Technically.” She scratched her nails along his scalp, from the nape of his neck up, watching him shudder, watching his eyes flutter closed.  
  
“Too fine for me, then” he growled, thrusting into the circle of her fingers. “I shouldn’t know what you taste like, I shouldn’t have the smell of you on me tomorrow. Maker help me,” he groaned, pulling her hand off him, lining himself up between her thighs, the hot blunt tip of him dragged back and forth until she twitched. He pressed into her slowly, every inch a stinging stretch.  
  
She had to bite his shoulder, just above the ropy red scar he carried so lightly, as though it was nothing. It was bite him or moan, and she wouldn’t do that, she would keep quiet.


	7. Prompt: Witch-Hazel, a spell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian doesn't always pull his punches for sparring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompted by @black-rose4  
> includes one of my own fave things  
> (technically a kink, but I say it's vanilla)

“Is it just the one spot?”

Evelyn squinted at the back of Blackwall’s head in the dim light, pulling on his ear until he turned his head toward the windows.

“Just the one!” he barked, feeling at the hairless patch with grubby fingertips. “One’s plenty.”

Running her thumb along the bare white skin she tried not to laugh. “It’s a small spot, really. I’m amazed at this sudden vanity.” Evelyn brushed a few long black hairs from the back of his shirt. Dorian’s idea of sparring was more mean spirited when he wasn’t getting fucked regularly, everyone knew it. Maker help them if he was in a dry spell and his research didn't go well at the same time.

Blackwall scratched at his shoulder and growled an oath or two. 

“Take it off and shake it outside,” Evelyn tugged at the edge of his collar. “You are covered in little bits of hair.”

Waiting in his chair when he came back slamming the door behind him, she tutted at his scowl. “Sit,” she pointed at the rug in front of her bare feet. “I can tie it back and the missing spot won’t show.”

“I haven’t got time to fuss with hair every day.” Blackwall settled between her knees, letting her gather his hair from his shoulders.

Around the leather thong in her teeth, Evelyn smiled. She carefully doubled the length of it and tied it tightly at the back of his neck. “I’ll do it for you,” 

He snorted.

“I will.” Dragging her fingernails lightly over his uncovered nape, she watched him shiver. His warm hand circled her ankle and pulled until her leg was over his shoulder, thumbs rubbing at the ball of her foot.

“Hmmm.” With his hair out of the way she could see the tendons in the back of his neck stand out when he bent to press his mouth to her instep.

She pulled but he held her still, tongue and teeth dragging a moan and outraged laughter from her. “Stop that! I haven’t even been in the bath yet, you filthy thing.”

Blackwall turned back enough to give her a lopsided grin that made her chest tighten and her nipples go hard as he said, “Get the oil and come sit with your feet in my lap. I’ll show you how to do something filthy.”


	8. Prompt: Wrasse (Again. Everybody likes that mouth.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warden Blackwall isn't Flissa's favorite customer at the Singing Maiden. But he's in the top three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @lonewarden for some Blackwall smut.

Shame about the beard.

Flissa watched the Warden Constable drink all alone again, and wondered what he looked like without it.

There was a pattern to drunk people. They moved back and forth, waves coming to bump up against the bar then falling away with their hands full. Sometimes just falling, but The Herald of Andraste didn’t like to see soldiers passed out on the tables so Flissa was more careful about how much she doled out and how quick.

The rest of Haven went around the Warden. Like he was a rock sticking up out of the water. He nodded his head and said Hello when they did, but he didn’t talk like the soldiers. Those boys never shut up.

Warden Blackwall wiped foam from his mustache with the back of a knuckle. Beards were tickly mangy things in Flissa’s experience - and his was hiding those lips. Maybe that was the point? Sharp heavy brows, shaggy hair scraped back from his face, grey bruises under his pale Marcher eyes. There was nothing _inviting_ about the kind of face made for squinting into a dragon’s roar.

But the mouth, the mouth was soft. It was meant for kissing hands and sucking earlobes. Those lips were meant for the kind of thing Flissa didn’t get to enjoy so often these days. Too much to be done, and she didn’t have time for a boy fumbling around under her skirts in the precious few hours she had to herself.

Looking at the Warden, though, she imagined a long afternoon somewhere quiet, and that soft mouth working its way down between her breasts, and further. Fereldan boys weren’t offering much. They all thought a hard cock was everything a girl wanted. But something about Warden Blackwall’s delicious mouth made her think he had the patience for spreading a girl out and making her come until she cried.


	9. Prompt: Sexual Headcanon Meme, Toys?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you can carve...things...out of wood, then are you making?  
> You know. Things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompted by @lonewarden

“What was he going on about?”

“N-nnnothing.” He managed to get the word out, but just barely.

It was hard enough stringing words together when she looked him in the eye around the Hold. Spread out like a sacrifice on the rug in front of her fireplace, waiting for her to finish easing herself down onto his cock? He was lucky to breathe right. _Wasn’t_ breathing right, now that he noticed. He was panting and she was grinning down at him, teasing him. _Maker_ , there was a wet little noise as she let him slip out, keeping her fingers firm at the base, playing with him.

“Was it about your particular talents," she purred. The ends of her hair tickled where she leaned over to mouth at the scars across his chest.

“What?” That made no sense. And, if she didn’t get him back inside her he was going to have to flip her over and see to things himself. Spoiling her fun was its own entertainment. He could probably get her ticked off enough to pull his hair and shout - the shouting made her tighten up around him like a fist.

“He’s asked me before.” Evelyn sat up again and looked down at where he slid inside.

How could she talk and fuck him so slowly? It pulled his thoughts out until he was the dumb lummox he looked. Waiting for her to move again was all he could do. “He wanted to know if you’d been carving anything  _special_ for me.” She was draped across him now and he went up on his elbows so he could lick at her lips when she rocked into range. “Like a placeholder, for when I’m missing you.”

“Miss me?" Andraste’s tits, she was grinding down against the ridge of bone above his cock. Watching her bring herself off on what was left of his battered hide was worth the wait to come. Her nails curled into his ribs, the sting of it made him hiss. "I go where you go."

“Yes,” she sighed. Whether she was agreeing or just happy with her toy Marcher he couldn’t have said.


	10. Peignoir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'know...jerk off fic. Suggested by @zora-zen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you see the pink/black Bad News Lingerie post?   
> http://noseforahtwo.tumblr.com/post/138382523160/if-you-dont-think-problem-bear-has-had-a-drunken

“I’m sorry, Warden Blackwall, this will only take a moment. Ambassador Montilyet is insistent we inspect anything that arrives for the Inquisitor.”

He nodded, leaning against the column nearest the Ambassador’s fireplace. Her two little minions were all business: they efficiently snapped the strings on parcels and waved their hands over each bundle piled high on Josephine’s desk.

“A lot of loot,” he scoffed. How much wine and chocolate does one woman need? _However much  some arse-kissing cheesemongers are willing to send up the mountain on a mule, apparently._

The mage opened an inlaid box that had been polished to a mirror finish. The gleam of reflected sun from the window behind them hit him right in the eye as she pulled out a double handful of silk and fur. Then another. She stepped backward and the rest of whatever it is slid out of the box with an expensive sigh.

Both women sigh, too.

He rolled his eyes, watching them hold it - _what are those called? There’s a word for them_ \-  up to the light and coo over it before remembering there’s a bloke in the room. It gets stuffed back into the box. _Orlesian word. Starts with N, maybe._

***

_Peignoir. That’s it.They all wore them in the summer in Val Royeaux. At least when they were expecting a late night visit._

He put his tankard down with more force than he meant to, sloshing ale down onto the first floor. It’s been circling around the back of his head all night, trying to get hold of that word. He used to bloody _dream_ in Orlesian. Now he has to scratch deep to get anything not military jargon or cursing or food names.

Peignoir. Fancy dressing gown, that’s all. A bleeding inappropriate gift, too. What kind of prat sends that to somebody with an army at her heels?

 _Heels. Tall ones, curved like a teapot’s spout. Or those Minrathous boots with the wickedly pointy toes. Never seen a highborn tart wear a peignoir barefoot, that’s for certain._ He shoved himself away from the railing, swerving around a couple of pissed mages on his way down the stairs. Cabot waved him away when he tried to leave some coins on the bar.

Drinking on the Inquisition’s dime isn’t a bad way to spend the night. The damp cold outside slapped some of the drunk out of him. With one arm propped against the back wall he got his laces undone and worked his half-hard cock out to pee. Or not. He rested his forehead against the freezing stones and willed his cock back down. Unwanted, the memory of a black haired woman came up: the heels of her shoes clicking against a parquet floor, a cloud of silk swirling around her as she came closer. Her legs peeked out of the flowing fabric, bare and pink at the knees.

He ground his teeth and pressed his forehead into the granite of Skyhold’s walls. _Piss first, then wank._

Freed of a gallon of Cabot’s shite ale, he tucked himself back in with a little hitch to get everything in place as he walked up the steps. It’s going to rain tonight. He can feel it in his aching shoulder, in his left ankle and both wrists. It’s no time to be sacking out in the stable. The bed in his quarters is saggy and in the morning it will be too hot to breathe indoors but at least he could tug his cock in peace. No barn moggies jumping on him or some idiot coming up into the loft looking for a place to pass out drunk.

Maker, the hall was loud tonight and bright and full of shitstains. He ducked into a door on the side and felt better the moment the door closed behind him. Cold and quiet was all he wanted. The door to his room creaked and gave under his shoulder. His coat and shirt he left in a pile by the cold hearth. As he toed off his boots he spotted a bottle of whiskey he’d left by the bed a week ago.

A long swallow burned down his throat and into his stomach as he stretched out on the chilly quilts. It spread through him taking the tension out of his arms.

What was her name? Didn’t matter now. Behind his closed eyes the Val Royeaux wife has the Herald’s face. She swishes and clicks away from him - a mile of silk hemmed in pink fur fanning out in her wake. He follows along down the empty hall, past the fires banked along the side. He can see the cleft of her arse through the thing. She takes a seat on her throne and points, her peremptory hand heavy with jewels. All that sheer fabric settles along her arms and legs, pools at her feet.

He spat into his hand and slicked it along his length, going easy over the head, pulling the loose skin tight at the base. His hips twitched with the effort to stay still. He wormed further into the rustling mattress stuffed with corn husks.

Would she be noisy, gasping and grabbing hold of his hair as he starts at one ankle? Or she might be silent, only a sharp breath now and then. He can feel the ridiculous pink fur at the hem of that silly thing tickling the back of his neck, his ribs, the backs of his thighs as he kneels between her spread legs. The silk and fur hiss against themselves, long sleeves tangling up around her hands in his hair. He pushes it all aside, biting and licking his way to the right place. Noblewomen were always wrapping themselves up in stupid frippery when all they needed was to be wet and eager. She watches him, he can see from his place on his knees on the cold floor. She watches him with that distant smile like she’s waiting to be impressed.

His breeches were bunched up around his ankles. He kicked himself free and took his hand off his cock long enough to roll over into the quilts, warm and wrapped up tight. For a second he thought about another mouthful of whisky but it wasn’t worth sitting up for. He stroked himself in time to the thought of his tongue on her.

The firm little spot presses back against his tongue, his chin is sopping wet. She tastes of strong black tea and tart fruit. Lady Trevelyan moans and wiggles down farther on the seat of her gilded throne to push herself into his mouth. Grabbing hold of one thigh, his fingers dig in to the soft flesh. He can see his bruised thumbnail through the silk of her peignoir, purple-black behind the pale pink fabric.

He slowed his hand, grinding his teeth and making himself wait. The slow drag of his own callused fingers made him shiver and hiss between his teeth.

One hand on her thigh and the other tangled in her nightie he gets himself upright and pulls her closer by the satin belt at her waist. She’s tied it in a silly bow. The Inquisitor gasps and wraps her legs around, knowing just what he wants. Her eyes go wide with surprise as he eases inside her. She grabs at him, slick muscles clenching around the first inch. The sleeves of her nightie are soft but cold, smooth to the touch. He reaches under them, to get hold of her wrists, the warm skin underneath what he wants. She goes along and lets him push her hands up behind her head until she’s gripping the back of the throne, arching into him as he starts to move inside her. Her tits are moving too, the nipples pressed dark and hard against the silk, back and forth with every thrust.

At daybreak he woke with a jerk, his arm asleep under him, neck aching at the odd angle he’d been sleeping. He brushed the dried spunk off the back of his hand and peeled the quilt away from where it stuck to one thigh, wincing at the pulled hairs there.

Peignoir. _Who has the balls to send her one of those unasked?_

Why did he fucking care?


	11. Prompt: Noon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't like blowjobs? Anon on tumblr asked for a follow up to Before Supper.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.” Not giving him the chance to answer, Evelyn stretched up and pulled him the last inches to her mouth. Blackwall’s mustache tickled the apple of her cheek while she let him walk her back to the chilly wall. Their teeth bumped as he hastily cupped the back of her head before she could knock it against the cobweb lined glass behind her. “Cheers,” she laughed against his chin before ducking under the fringe of his beard to nip his throat. 

His slow grinding against her hip left little doubt what he had been thinking on since she arranged to be waiting in this dusty little antechamber just after noon.

“Afraid not.” But Evelyn patted the hand that was working to slide into her trousers to take the sting out of her refusal. “Not today.”

Hurt and confusion flashed across Blackwall’s eyes as she hopped up onto the windowsill behind her. The tangle of vines on the other side of the glass made dense patterns of shadow over them both. Eye to eye, she curled a finger into his beard, tugging playfully. 

“But we can still take care of you.” She dragged her nails lightly against his jaw as comprehension dawned.

“I see, right then.” Evading her fingers, he took her hand away from his chin. “I-We can wait.” He cleared his throat, not quite looking at her. “Is it a week?”

She wriggled her captured hand until he let go so she could loosen his padded coat. “Three or four days. Probably three.” The puff of his sigh stirred her hair and she laughed. “But there _is_ a disparity between how often I get to come versus you. If we were keeping a tally.”

His self-satisfied smile made her want to tweak his nose like a child. “True enough. Three to one at least.”

“Unless you _want_ to wait?” She picked at the laces of his breeches until she could slip a hand inside to ease his length from its awkward angle trapped against his thigh. “It doesn’t _feel_ like you want to wait,” she winked and watched him shiver as he hardened against her palm.

“I will,” came out as a grumble.

“No, let’s not. You’re always pulling me off you too quickly.” She kissed him in time to the circling of her palm on his erection until he groaned. “Budge over, then.” She slipped back down to her feet and used her grip to turn and direct him against the wall. 

“It _does_ make a good handle.” He huffed and frowned. “My goodness,” she leered, squeezing him. “Are your feelings too hurt, shall I stop?”

He threaded his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck to pull her closer and arched into her hand as she gripped his shaft in a loose fist. His faint groan as she stroked him slowly had her smiling.

“Mmm, you like that.” His eyes closed as she ran her knuckles from base to tip. “No,” her fingers squeezed tightly, and she blurted out “You have to watch. Or it isn’t as much fun.” The hand on her neck got heavy. He blinked in surprise. She made a show of licking her thumb before slicking it across the sensitive notch under the head of his cock. He bit back a moan and leaned against the wall, eyes on her mouth. “I like a little encouragement,” her touch flicked across him, feather light, until he flinched up into her hand. “Speak up.”

“My lady is a tease,” Blackwall ground out, watching her wet her thumb again.

“Very much so,” Evelyn sighed. _When I have time for it._ “But I thought you blokes liked to see a hand on your cock.” At her words a few drops leaked from his slit. She watched him bite his lip, but he remained stubbornly silent. Hovering just shy of smoothing them away she waited while his hand trembled on her neck.

His head fell to the wall with a muffled thunk. “Yes, yes, I do like to see your fingers around me.” His free hand clenched into a fist that he tucked behind his back. “But I’d rather see your mouth.” His breath hissed out between his teeth as she knelt between his boots. There wasn’t much to his foreskin when he was as hard as this, but she pulled the bit of looser skin taut with her thumb and finger at the base of his length and licked away the bitter drops.

She ran the tip of her tongue along the prominent vein at one side of his cock. Steadying herself with a hand on his leg, she was pleased to feel a tremor running through the long muscle. Pressing a loud kiss to his glans she ran her teeth along the delicate skin and lipped at him lazily. It made him shudder, so she kept it up until his hand in her hair tightened. Little kisses peppered over his shaft had him twitching, lip curled in impatience. She nuzzled him, tilting her head back to catch his eye as she stroked her cheek along the length of him and at his shivering moan, she broke out in a broad smile.

Evelyn may as well have clubbed him. Blackwall dropped an inch farther along the wall until he locked his shaking knees. Cupping her other cheek, his rough palm a stark contrast to the silken skin of his cock, he stared down wide eyed. “You’ll break me, looking at me like that,” there was -startlingly- fear obvious in his voice.

She turned away from his hand and bit his thigh. It was either that or pull him down to the cold floor so she could kiss him and cry over him and demand he explain himself. So instead she sank her teeth into his leather covered leg and stroked him firmly until she could look back up at him with dry eyes and a smirk. 

“Big strong fellow like you? Safe as houses.” This time the dull thud of his head on the wall was deliberate and she said nothing about his not watching as she set to her task.

Taking her time, Evelyn wet her lips and slid him into her mouth. Mindful of her teeth, she sucked hard, then swirled her tongue at the underside, making him curse.

Bull’s voice came to mind now, thick with drink and exhaustion:  _Screw him until he can’t stand up straight, Boss, but if you go digging around in there for a heart, he’ll crack. Go easy - we need him._

As she couldn’t comfortably take all of him without choking she worked her fist along the rest of his length, twisting her loose grip with each stroke. Humming her approval of his tortured groan had him thrusting shallowly against the vibration. Easing back before he could gag her accidentally, she released him with a lewd wet sound and waited until Blackwall’s eyes were open again to wipe saliva from her chin.

“I think…” Evelyn stroked him quickly, then slowed to a crawl, dragging her palm against only the head of his cock, laughing at his grunt of frustration. “I think you like having the boss on her knees.”

He swelled the tiniest bit more in her hand. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

Blackwall’s heavy-lidded gaze took in her pose between his feet, “Yes, Your Worship.”

A wicked laugh burst from her. Giving orders day and night to a handful of people who in turn controlled hundreds - _Maker, a thousand_ \- more wasn’t the sort of power Evelyn could enjoy with a clean conscience. But one man, one particular man, she could have under her thumb with glee. 

“Naughty. Here now, let’s see about making you come, _hm_?” She squeezed his shaft, ran the head of his cock across her pursed lips, licked and kissed him sloppily. He shuddered and sank his hand into her hair, unwinding her braids. As she sucked him again, bobbing her head over him, her now loose hair clung to her wet chin. She stopped with a frustrated glance up. Blackwall gathered it up until he could twist his fingers through it all, holding it away from her face as she applied just enough suction at the tip to pull herself back down onto him.

“An- _nnngh_ -Andraste’s tits,” he groaned.

Evelyn laughed around him, mouth watering at the thought she was finally going to make him come this way, watching him with her wits about her for once and not after he had reduced her to a shivering mess tangled in her sheets.

“You’re perfect,” he muttered, hands fidgeting, eyes riveted to her mouth. “How did-” a moan cut off his words as she hummed. He traced the corner of her mouth stretched around him with a shaking thumb. “How did I ever stay away from-” his fingers tightened in her hair, pulling back just a bit. “ _Maker_. Yes. Slow, slower.”

She obeyed, but scraped the very edges of her bottom teeth against that little notch until he let out something like a sob. She was aroused before, but that sort of talk was enough to make her nipples painfully hard. Evelyn moaned around him and gentled the pressure of her lips until she was lazily sliding over him. His panting breaths sped up and he rose up onto his toes. He was close and she moaned her encouragement - _mmhmm mmhmm_. His deep voice mumbled nonsense that may have been her name as with her last long slow stroke he gripped her shoulder and tried to push her away. She made a noise of furious refusal and sucked him hard, working the flat of her tongue against his most sensitive spot and taking as much as she could without choking. She ignored his restraining hand in her hair then clutched his thigh while her fingers tightened around what wouldn’t fit in her mouth.

Blackwall hissed through gritted teeth, but to her delight held her gaze, hips jerking as she swallowed the first of it, then let the rest gather on her tongue, bitter but not entirely unpleasant. It was worth it to see his awestruck expression when the excess ran from the corner of her mouth.

The moment she took her mouth away, his hands were under her arms, dragging her up the length of his body. He wiped the dribble from her chin with the backs of his knuckles and pulled her into a bruising kiss. His tongue chased hers until the last taste of him was gone while his hand kneaded her arse. 

“Perfect.” He teased her nipples through her shirt, pinching lightly until she squirmed. His kisses slowed to little more than brushing against her lips as she tucked him back into his clothes. Sighing, stretching his arms above his head, he said quietly, “Maker, you’ve wrung me out.” Blackwall ran an unsteady hand through his hair before seeing to his lacing. “Now I have to drill those idiots with my legs shaking like a halla,” he turned her toward the door, hands on her hips, following behind.

“Are you _complaining_ that I sucked you off in the middle of the day?” she asked over her shoulder.

Blackwall chuckled and pulled her back against his chest so he could nip at the crook of her neck. She squirmed away with a little shriek. “Shh, Inquisitor. You’ll give us away.” He combed his fingers through the length of her hair, then turned her head with a finger on her chin, looking her over with a smug grin. “Glassy eyed, and your lips are red.” He scowled in thought. “Go the long way round. You walk through the training yard like this, those boys won’t know one end of their sword from the other.”


	12. Before Supper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted for frottage. Repeatedly. By people who may or may not have been named Zora, among others.

The thing about Skyhold is, you can tell where people come and go. The path from the kitchens to the Hall upstairs has a trench worn down the middle of the stones. Who knows how many hundreds of years’ worth of serving girl feet passed that way?  Turn right rather than left though, and it’s a mile of cold damp corridor, wet at the top of the wall. In the cracks underfoot is green moss growing undisturbed.

Evelyn’s shoes slide across it when he pulls her around the door. Her nervous laughter bounces in the vaulted space before he can close the door behind them. 

It’s going to take time, getting used to her odd ways. She laughs at the things that aren’t funny. She laughs when he gets hold of her, when his brains are screaming for a fuck. He knows he could manage something quick. Bring her off once, here against the wall, then bend her over a cask in the corner. Fast and just rough enough. 

She pulls on his coat, makes impatient noises, trying to get him to press her into the cold damp wall. It’s old habit that puts his forearm behind her shoulders, long forgotten habit how he holds the back of her head in an open hand, fingers splayed out. Must be careful not to muss her, she can’t have mildew and mortar down her back. Sneaking around in servant’s halls, in dark sitting rooms while the rest of the party fades away was how he spent his nights for so long. 

“No biting!” Evelyn jumps in his grip. “I have supper with a-” She moans, her voice cracking as he licks the spot instead, nipping her fragile skin with his lips carefully over his teeth. “Maker, that’s lovely. With the Dowager, time to pry more gold out of her.”

“Sounds important,” he mumbles into the rounded edge of her collarbone.

Gods, why does a woman’s throat stop him in his tracks? He wanted fast and rough, but her neck smells like morning sex. Like sleepy moans, kisses that are practically drowning, her tongue sliding along his as he slides in and out of her to the same beat.

She laughs again, and it makes his cock ache. 

Fuck. He should go back to tavern girls. They’re never too busy, never hard to find. No one notices if they’re late - if they’re still pulling laces tight over their tits as they come back.

He palms her through her dress, barely able to feel her nipple going firm under his thumb. 

“Open up, let me in.”

“There isn’t time.” The dark curve of her eyelashes stands out against her flushed cheeks as she glances down. “Come along for supper, your Orlesian is better than mine.” She wiggles a little in his grasp, like she’s trying to get away.

He knows better. She’s only trying to egg him on. Evelyn thinks she wants it here, against the wall, but he’s not sending her back looking like she’s been mauled. 

“I’ll pass, thank you kindly.”

“A table full of people who loathe each other? Awkward silences? My entire upbringing is a waste if I can’t get the two of us through that. I was bred for it.” She smiles around a kiss, pulling his lip with her sharp little teeth.

He grunts, going back to her throat. He kisses his way along the other side now, where she smells like herself and not the woodsmoke that clings to his beard, the fruit on his breath and chocolate on hers.

She nips his ear.

“You said no biting.”

“That was for me. You are fair game." 

Maker, if she keeps squirming he’ll fuck her anyway, privacy and good sense be damned. Her hand leaves the back of his neck so she can loosen the top of her dress enough for him to reach in. Her head goes heavy, pushing the back of his hand in to the crumbling mortar between stones behind her. She arches up into his palm with a groan. 

"Come along, we’ll have a-" 

She sucks in a breath when he takes the tip of one breast in his mouth. Her hard nipple pushes back against his tongue like a challenge.

He could spend all afternoon licking and sucking at her, and she’d let him, judging by the way she pulls his hair to get him down there. Evelyn yanks her bodice the other way, forcing him to switch sides. He nuzzles the bony valley of her sternum, breathing deep and closing his eyes. She smells fucking incredible, like lemon rinds and new parchment. Clean skin and salt. 

"You can help me put the title to good use.”

“I’ve always preferred _ladies_ this way.” He traces a dark blue vein under her skin with his tongue. “This is good use.”

“No bites!”

“Won’t show,” he mumbles around the nipple between his teeth, sucking hard and biting again. 

“Harder,” her voice breaks. 

Now the throb in his balls is almost enough to let him ignore the strain on his back from stooping over for so long. Instead of biting, he gets a finger in the edge of her dress and pries the stiff fabric away until her whole breast is free. He squeezes, letting his beard tickle before he licks her gently, swirling his tongue around her nipple as light as he can. She likes it rougher than he thought, but he’s already learned the slow and light treatment will break her. 

Evelyn moans and pulls his hair when he sucks slowly. Her marked hand fumbles down his coat, yanking at his swordbelt. 

“Get rid of this,” she says, urging him to stand up straight and then slapping at the hilt of his sword when he does. “It’s breaking my ribs.”

He’d been better at this once. It was once natural as breathing to make sure the sharp and shiny parts of his old uniform didn’t get tangled in lace and dangling ribbon. Propping his sword against the closed door means moving away enough to think for a moment.  It’s no good being this starved for her after two days, he decides. He needs to keep some distance, keep his head on his shoulders.

Which goes straight to shit at the sight of Evelyn bent at the waist, her gorgeous tits spilling out of her dress as she reaches under her long skirts. 

“That tears it, then.”

Evelyn looks up at his words, wobbly as she steps out of her knickers. One side is tangled around the high heel of her patent shoe. 

He skins out of his coat, jerking the laces open, watching her the whole time. The knickers he snatches out of her hand then stuffs them up the cuff of his shirt sleeve. His coat he throws over her shoulders.

“You can’t keep those,” she insists. 

Too loud. They both freeze, listening for anyone in the hall outside. 

“I like them,” she whispers, mock stern.

“Did you wear them hoping I would see?”

“Prat.”

While he unlaces his breeches, she puts her arms in the sleeves, then realizes nothing but her fingertips make it out. She looks up at him, confused.

“Why am I-”

She squeaks when he ducks and slides his hands up, up from her shoes that are gleaming with newness, up her legs in thin woolen stockings to the bare skin above them. Her thighs are hot against his cold hands and she makes that strangled mouse noise again.

How long has it been since he had to shift five pounds of satin and silk to get under a skirt? He’s missed it, the smell of cedar and starched lace. He has always liked ladies best this way, falling into his hands, itching to be free of their tight clothes.

“Get your dress out of the way. Good, there. No, mind my coat, keep it on. Wall’s dirty.”

She’s laughing again, an incredulous snort as he gets a good hold of her ass, heavy and warm in his hands. But she’s finally cottoned on to what he wants. Evelyn grabs two fists full of his shirt then wraps her legs around his waist when he hoists her up.

Flakes of mortar crumble to the floor, scraped away as he gets her settled, back to the wall. She isn’t laughing now, only wriggling to get his cock nestled in right. Evelyn fumbles, holding onto the back of his neck for dear life, the pile of fancy satin wadded up between them in her way. 

Trying to nudge the head of his cock in the right direction only leads to him rubbing against her. Maker, he’s so hard now it aches up into his belly. Two days she was out of his sight, and he’s already had her a handful of times now. It shouldn’t feel so urgent.

He ought to be right ticked that she can drag this kind of want out of him. In a mildewy cellar, him sober as a judge. He flexes his hips, enough to rub against her again. She shifts and then his cock is between the lips of her cunt, impossibly hot.

“Oh, wait,” she pants, eyes squeezed shut because she still can’t look him in the eye and say something saucy. “Don’t move. I mean, yes, do move, but like that.” Evelyn writhes, her tits pressed tight to his chest, the muscles he can feel under the springy weight of her ass going tense. 

It all feels much the same, slippery flesh along the underside of his cock, but he knows when he has it right. She arches as much as he’ll allow, hissing when he gives her quick strokes against her clit.

Such a small spot, to make her shake and forget to breathe. She’s given up on reaching between them and instead pulls at his shirt until she can worm her marked hand underneath, her fingernails barely prickling over his ribs. He goes slow, spreading the wetness upward. She trembles, curled up in his arms, bucking and clenching her legs around his waist tighter. 

He gives up pretending he’s doing anything but rutting against her, now. Slow and hard, and she sinks her teeth into the side of his neck with another groan.

“Please, please” she chants.  

Beg, beg, beg…it runs through his mind with every breath. If she asks him for it, clings to him like a burr it’s easier not to think. The only honesty between them is what she wants out of him now. If nothing else he can fuck her every day, as often as she’ll let him. 

Evelyn stretches a little higher against him, looking for his mouth. He catches her moans, she bites him through a kiss. He presses his forehead to hers and watches from an inch away as she gets close. She jabs him in the back of his leg with one sharp heel, no idea she’s done it but the pain draws everything down to a fine point. 

“More, I can’t-” She arches against him, pushing away from the wall in frustration and letting go of his shoulder, reaching down in the mess of her skirt, trying to get a hand between them. “Stop teasing me, damn you!”

If he knew how to make it last he would have, to watch her falling apart, but it isn’t a plan. The burning in his arms and shoulders means he won’t beat her to the finish, not while he’s keeping her up. 

She blows strands of hair out of her eyes angrily, twisting in his arms, trying to find the perfect rhythm. He holds still, letting her move as much as she can. She’s left teeth marks in her bottom lip, biting it in frustration. He licks them, kissing her slowly, trying to stay in time with her shifting hips. 

The tight little circles she draws on his cock - right under the head where he would want her tongue - start to make his knees weak. He leans into her a little more, looking to steady himself. Evelyn claws at his shoulder, her mouth pulling at his, sucking his bottom lip between her teeth again and biting with a muffled shriek. 

He digs his fingers into her, knowing he’ll leave bruises to find later. Evelyn shudders, pulling him tight to her mouth as he slides slowly, his cock dragging out her orgasm, back and forth until she pounds his shoulder with her fist.

“Stop,” she gasps, eyes shut tight, her cheeks red. “Please, Maker, that’s too much." 

He goes on a moment longer, one more thrust to feel her dripping wet and flinching against him. "Good girl,” he sighs, letting her stand on her own again. “Now get-”

Bells faintly ringing the hour interrupt him just as he was about to tell her how he wanted to fuck her.

Her eyes go wide and she yanks on her laces frantically, putting herself back together. “I’m late!”

She looks down at his cock, red and twitching in time with his heartbeat. 

“I’m-” Evelyn runs her hands over her hair, smoothing it back into place. “I’ll make it up to you, honestly.” She stretches up on her toes to kiss him. “That was lovely. But I can’t be late, Josie will never forgive me.”

The cold satin of her skirt clings to his damp cock, still stupidly eager. 

It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell her nobody, not even the masked gits that crowd her Hall like ticks on a dog, will have any doubt what she’s been up to. She’s pink and her eyes are bright. Her mouth is swollen perfectly, chin rubbed red by his beard. She smells like sex. 

“You can keep the knickers afterall,” she says, shrugging out of his coat before opening the door and disappearing with a rustle of fabric, her heels clicking on the stones.

He tucks himself back into his breeches and looks for the most expensive bottle of wine he can pinch off the racks along the wall. He takes another for Sera, who will at least listen to him whinge if there’s a free drink in it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwarf Inquisitor + subWall anon request

“Quit your flailing. Try again tomorrow. You’ll learn to keep your shields up or you’ll be digging trenches in the Dales.” 

“Ser!” Four weary voices answered raggedly. 

Blackwall dismissed the recruits with a nod. They flopped against the rails around the training ring, gasping and staring at his back as he walked to the armory. She followed but left a lot of space between them. It wasn’t hard as humans took two steps for one of hers.

Inside he hung his practice weapons and laughed at something the smith’s apprentice said about beating the new ones into shape.

“Inquisitor!” Harritt ducked his head to make eye contact and went back to his work. 

She smiled, waved as she always did and raised her voice just enough to be heard over the hammers and bellows. “Blackwall? Cassandra has left the new maps for us to review, yes?”

“Up on her table, Inquisitor.” Blackwall turned and gave her what counted as a smile, a twitch of his lips as he wiped his sword with an oily rag. “I don’t like the look of things around Sahrnia, if it’s accurate there’ll be trouble.”

“Do you have a moment to go over the changes with me?” It was no secret she had no experience with military strategy. The Carta were always more ‘kill first investigate later’.

“As you wish.”

There was nothing in his tone but camaraderie. Damn him. She had been up two hours early this morning daydreaming over her breakfast about how the veins in his arms stood out with his elbows tied behind him. 

He took the stairs two at a time and had already finished weighing each corner of the map with candlesticks by the time she caught him up. “The scouts have been saying for weeks now that Sahrnia won’t be easy. The river’s still frozen.”

He leaned over to add a note at the top, propping on an elbow to dip his quill. 

“Down,” she said softly.

He tapped a line on the map with his middle finger and turned his head just enough to see her from the corner of his eye. “Beg pardon?”

“That’s,” she swallowed down the sudden flutter of nerves. Her fingers twisted the end of her braid at her shoulder. “That’s your first penalty.”

Blackwall stood, not meeting her eyes. He looked down at the forge below, licked his lips.

“Second penalty,” she said, searching for some sign in his expression. Something to tell her she was doing this properly. Each encounter was a little more comfortable but she still felt as though she would be better at what he wanted if she were dressed up in something severe. 

His cheeks went red, it spread to his ears. Blackwall looked between her mouth and the people working below them a few times then backed against the wall out of their sight getting to his knees slowly. The leather of his boots creaked.

She remembered that it was supposed to be about what  _she_ wanted. He wanted orders.

“Better.” She touched his hot cheek with the backs of her fingers.

“Yes, miss,” he sighed, hands fidgeting on his belt. He quickly put them on his knees when told to. 

She opened the collar of his shirt still damp with sweat and slipped her marked hand past his collarbones until she felt hair. 

He hissed through his teeth as she pulled.

“Quiet,” she whispered. “You’ve two penalties to pay out, human.”

Blackwall looked up from the floor with wet eyes and an open mouth. He nodded mutely then slumped back against the wall when she let him go. The line of his cock showed through the rough trousers he wore for sparring. She nudged his knees further apart and pressed the toe of her boot between his legs a tiny bit. He shivered as his hips arched up into the pain.

“What a good boy.”

 

 

 

[noseforahtwo](https://noseforahtwo.tumblr.com/post/155277145405/noseforahtwo-noseforahtwos)

 


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